


Devil Went Down to Georgia

by jennthejerk



Series: Supernatural Reader Inserts [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Badass fiddling, F/M, devil went down to georgia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 01:24:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13776711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennthejerk/pseuds/jennthejerk
Summary: You’re challenged to a duel of talents with the Devil and if you win, you get a fiddle made of gold. If you lose, however, the Devil gets your soul.





	Devil Went Down to Georgia

As a hunter, you’ve had to get money in many ways; the illegal way being credit card fraud. But you also had something no hunter you’ve ever met could do for money: fiddle. Sounds strange, but you were great. Some say you were the best there’s ever been, and you didn’t disagree. You were many things, ‘humble’ not being one of them. Not by a long shot.

You and a hunter you met some years back just got off a case a few towns south of the bar you were at now. It was a hunter’s bar, of course, and Spike - your hunting partner - was hustling a game of pool with a few other brute men.

Spike is a big man; six foot seven, covered in tattoos, bald, muscular, the epitome of what a stereotypical man named Spike looked like. You saved his life once and the only way he saw as a good payment for that was to hunt with you. He’s a man of few words, so people listen when he does talk.

“So how was that nest of fangs,Y/N?” An old friend of yours plants himself beside you at the bar. He motions to the bartender and asks what you want. “Just a beer.” “Two beers,” He tells the bartender what the two of you want and the barkeep nods. He grabs two ice-cold bottles, setting them in front of the two of you.

“So you talked to Spike, I see. Well, whatever talking you can get out of the man.” You sometimes make references about Spike’s silent giant nature, getting a laugh out of your companion. “Yeah,” Dean nods, “He said you worked your magic yet again & saved his ass, like you usually do.”

Dean’s always hit on you and you always hit on him, but nothing ever came of it. Spike and Sam placed bets on when the two of you would finally sleep together, the two giant men changing their sides every other time the four of you cross paths. There have been troves of people trying to get /something/ from you, but you never did anything you’d regret.

“It’s a wonder I even have magic left to work.” He grins that flawless grin of his, his granny Smith apple eyes sparking in the dim light of the bar. “I’ve been told I’m magical, but my spell is missing a few key ingredients…” It’s like a game of tango, the flirting and suggestive comments, the winks and the relief evident when you see that the other survived the hunts between meetings.

Dean winks and puts a hand on your knee, rubbing your thigh as he leans closer, whispering a few things that are better left unwritten. Your reply is about to come, but your thought process is interrupted by a loud obnoxious voice coming from the door.

“Please correct me if I’m wrong, but I do believe the famous Y/N is in the building.” Son of a bitch. Spike meets your eyes from the pool table and you can see the ‘piss off dweeb’ building just from his eyes. “Who’s that guy? He looks like a weasel.” Dean can just see the tension suffocating you like a cloud of smoke. “Marvin. Marvin Zeddmore. Total dweeb. He- why are you making that awful face?”

“He has to be related to those Ghostfacer nutjobs we met in Texas that time and keep popping up from time to time. You know, the ones who tried to make that TV show?” You laugh, remembering Dean’s recollections of him and Sam’s time with the infamous Ghostfacers.

Sam appears in front of you and Dean so fast you almost get whiplash. “Please don’t tell me that’s who I think it is.” He looks scared, and it’s hard for you to stifle a laugh. “It’s your lucky day, Sam. It’s his cousin Marvin.” He sighs in relief, but then the same look of a deer - oh sorry, moose - in the headlights as he remembers Ed Zeddmore, Ghostfacer, and cringes that there’s more where he came from.

“Is he, you know, like them?” Sam is referring to the Ghostfacers team. “Not quite. See, Ed’s obsessed with ghosts…” You don’t want to finish. “Okay, we know that. Spit it out, princess!” Dean rushes you. “Marvin is obsessed with me.”

The Winchester’s look at you like you had told them you were a unicorn that bled rainbow confetti. “Why?” That’s all they can say before Marvin saunters over to where the three of you are. “You boys mean to say she never told you how she made her money?” You just want to punch him but you also want to see where he’s going with this.

“You mean she wears thongs and suggestive bras and dances on poles while dollar bills are being thrown her way?” Leave it to Dean to accuse you of being a stripper. You slug him, him playfully glaring as he rubs his shoulder. “We wish, man. But her art is more respectable in nature: music.” His voice makes you want to commit homicide and roast your hands over his burning corpse.

“We already know she can sing- OW!” You slug the taller Winchester now. “Ah, it seems that my little Songbird has been holding out. I never, in all my years of knowing her, have I heard her sing. That must be a sight to see.” Marvin puts a hand on your shoulder and you immediately fling it off.

“I’ll leave you alone if you play a couple songs on the fiddle I know you still have in your truck and I’ll leave you alone for a little while.” He licks his dweeby lips as he paces murderously slow around your seat. “You can fiddle? Your hands must work wonders!” Dean again with his suggestive comments, making this situation just a tad more bearable.

“Dean, not helping.” He smirks, finding it smart to just shut up now before he’s in more pain than a shoulder punch will cause. Marvin’s grinning like a madman, knowing he won.

“I will pay you fifty dollars and two songs on the fiddle for you to leave me alone for four months.” You’re almost begging him, but you refuse to stoop that low. “Make it three months and you have a deal.” You reluctantly shake on it, not trusting him to wash his hands.

“SPIKE! I’M GETTING MY FIDDLE OUT OF THE TRUCK! BE RIGHT BACK!” You shout across the bar, him nodding. Dean comes with you to your truck.

Once back in the bar, Marvin looks at you like a mother scolding her child. You walk up to him, getting close enough to his face to be threatening but not close enough to smell the zit cream and bad breath. “Do you remember Cleveland? Do you want it to happen again?” He backs up abruptly at your words, you smirking in victory at the scared look on his face.

“Go get ‘em, tiger!” Dean slaps your ass and you look at him over your shoulder, winking at him.

*****

After your first song, the bar applauds, no one failing to acknowledge your talent by the volume in the bar. “Stellar performance, Songbird.” “I swear to God once I finish this next song you better walk out that door and if I see your face one time in the next three months, I’m not the one that’s gonna be followed. You are.” The threatening tone in your voice sent chills down his spine. He backed away, rubbing his neck and almost backed into another hunter.

Before you can start the second song, a tall blonde man makes his way into the bar, the doors slamming shut behind him, drawing all eyes to him. You hear Dean whisper a ‘son of a bitch’ and you wonder why.

“Do you know him?” The looks on the Winchester’s faces answers the question for you. “I wish I didn’t.” You wouldn’t know him from Adam - sorry buddy ol’ pal Adam - but you’ve never seen him a day in your life.

He had blonde hair a few shades lighter than Dean’s and startling blue eyes that looked like you were gazing at your favorite pair of worn out jeans. It was a color that would be not natural on anyone else, but they looked right on him. But he wasn’t your type. And since you’re not that much of a liar when you can avoid it, you will think that he’s good-looking but do nothing more than look.

He looked at you like an old friend as he pulled up a hickory wood chair and sits on it backwards facing you.

“Doll, lemme tell you what. I guess you didn’t know it, but I’m a fiddle player too and if you care to take a dare, I’ll make a bet with you. Now you play a pretty good fiddle, doll, but give the Devil his due. I’ll bet a fiddle of gold against your soul 'cause I think I’m better than you.”

Every soul in that bar is so quiet you could swear you could hear Dean’s heartbeat. A metaphorical light bulb shatters across your forehead as you realize who the stranger is: Lucifer. The Devil just strutted into the bar, called you a doll, and offers to make a bet. “Well I’ll be damned.” Spike makes a bad pun from across the bar.

No wonder the boys reacted the way they did to his entrance. You ponder his offer in your head, wondering if you should roll the dice and see what you get.

“My name’s Y/N, and it might be a sin, but I’ll take your bet. You’re gonna regret it 'cause I’m the best there’s ever been.” Dean’s eyes widen like saucers at you. You ignore him as reality sets in: you just made a deal with the Devil.

 

Lucifer opened up his case and said, “I’ll start this show.” Fire flew from his fingertips as he rosined up his bow. He pulled the bow across the strings and it made an evil hiss. Then a band of demons joined in and it sounded something like this.

(((((CUE THE PART WHERE LUCI PLAYS THE FIDDLE)))))

“Well you’re pretty good, old son. But sit down in that chair right there, let me show you how it’s done!” You smirk and wink at the fallen angel as you hop on top of the bar like it’s a stage and begin your solo. You fiddle like your life depends on it because it does.

(((((CUE JOHNNY’S SOLO IN THE SONG))))) 

Dean and many others in the bar are gawking at you like you’re a goddess as you play. You finish with a flourish and sit on the bar where you formerly stood, everyone’s eyes on you. Lucifer looked like a wounded puppy minus the depressing music in the background and you were elated that you won.

Lucifer bowed his head ‘cause he knew that he’d been beaten and he laid the golden fiddle on the ground at your feet. “Now Devil, just come on back if you ever wanna try again. I done told you once, you son of a bitch, I’m the best there’s ever been.” He snaps his fingers and a blood red case appears in his hands. He sets it on the bar beside you before snapping once more, exiting the bar quicker than he showed up.

Silence. Marvin looks about ready to piss himself and one glare at him from you sends him flying out the door almost as fast as Lucifer. After a moment, you hear tires screeching on the asphalt as Marvin peels out of the bar.

You shove one fiddle case in Dean’s hands, pulling his other hand in your free one and drag him out the door. He grabs the keys to Baby out of his pocket and last minute you throw the keys to your truck to Spike, him catching them in one hand, nodding. Money is exchanged between Sam and Spike’s hands, Sam betting right this time around.

“Wow Y/N, that was some damned good playing in there. How about you work some more magic-” Dean is obviously turned on and you smirk and promptly shut him up with a brief kiss to his lips. “Shut up and drive, Winchester.”


End file.
